


The Colts and the Haunting of the Port Hadley Lighthouse

by halfhardtorock



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode Related, Episode: s04e17 It's a Terrible Life, Homophobic Language, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Sibling Incest, Temporary Amnesia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-11
Updated: 2014-08-11
Packaged: 2018-02-12 18:58:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2121081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halfhardtorock/pseuds/halfhardtorock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“We need. We need fake names.” Sam said.</p>
<p>“What, like. Secret identities?”</p>
<p>“Like <i>aliases</i>. No one’s going to believe Smith and Wesson. I can’t even believe that I didn’t think of that either.” Sam ran a palm through his hair.</p>
<p>“How ‘bout, The Colts? We can pretend to be brothers. You know. Uh, like your dream,” Dean said.</p>
<p>“The Colts?” Sam said, skeptically. “The Colts: Ghost Hunters?” </p>
            </blockquote>





	The Colts and the Haunting of the Port Hadley Lighthouse

 

 

At first it was a movie night. Sam came over on Friday at 7:00 with his yellow polo untucked and a dvd under his arm. He ran his hand through his hair nervously and said “I thought...you know, research?” So Dean let him in but made him take his sneakers off so he wouldn’t scuff the hardwood.

They drank low carb beer, which Dean had grabbed at the Trader Joes the night before, distracted, while his mind was replaying and replaying the way Sam looked when he tore the ghost in half with his iron fireplace poker. He opened the fridge and tossed one to Sam, and Sam’s eyes widened a little and then he smiled and cracked the cap against the edge of the countertop.

“Oh come on, dude. That’s real slate,” Dean complained, and before he joined Sam in the living room, he scrubbed at the scrape with a soft damp cloth and then a little olive oil.

The dvd menu came up and Dean raised a brow “Ghostbusters?” 

Sam fumbled with the remote, frowning, face bright with red. “Yeah. Like I said, research.”

Dean tried to stick with one beer, milking it slowly, but by the end of the movie, they’d gone through the whole six pack, easy, and were on the edge of the couch, watching intently. Sam’s leg jittered next to his, and when the credits rolled, they both sighed back into their seats. 

“They got it all wrong,” Sam said after a minute, and when Dean looked over at him, he could tell Sam’s gears were working, the way his brows furrowed together, intently.

Dean choked on his beer, laughing. 

After a moment (and a few hearty slaps to the back by Sam), he got it together, put down his bottle and said “Okay, okay. You’re right. I mean, they didn’t use salt and we know that stuff is seriously amazing against ghosts.”

“Exactly. And I think the whole idea of fighting something...something as old school and old _world_ as ghosts with modern day science is ridiculous. I mean, it makes sense to me that salt and iron would work. These are probably some of the earliest tools of the trade.”

“The trade of what, Sammy? Ghost hunting?”

Sam looked at his socked feet, scrunching up his toes. Then he looked back up, eyes a little shiny. “You keep...calling me that. What is that about?”

Dean felt his own face go hot, so he got up and started collecting their empties. “Whatever,” he mumbled.

He didn’t know why he kept calling him that.

He was dropping the bottles in recycling when Sam came in and put his sneakers back on. “See you at work,” he said stiffly.

The bottles crashed against each other as Dean pushed them into the recycling bag. “Hey, uh. Why don’t we plan on next Friday. You get another movie, I’ll get the beer. And if the movie sucks we can always go through some more of those Ghostfacers tutorials.”

Sam stood in the doorway looking at him, his mouth all thin, not giving an inch.

Dean rolled his eyes. “Come on. I’ll even buy real, full-carb beer. And pretzels or something.”

Sam’s mouth softened, and then one edge turned up, revealing a dimple.  
“Okay, Friday. At seven?”

Dean nodded, wordless. 

“Okay, cool. I’ll uh...I’ll see you at work or something? Or next friday. G-good night, Dean.”

He stood in his kitchen and Sam went out the door, closing it behind him.

 

 

That night he dreamt about Sam. 

He woke up with the sun coming in his blinds and was grateful it was Saturday. He took a long, distracted shower after having espresso on the patio with the Times. Under the hard-spray, water jets on high, he thought about how Sam admitted he was dreaming about him, about them on the road together, killing ghosts...

He smirked at himself, then put his face under the jets as a kind of lame punishment.

Dreaming about saving Sam from _vampires_ was pretty embarrassing.

 

 

On Monday he stopped to pick up a box of California rolls for lunch and was late getting in. Late for him was still early for everyone else, it just meant he wouldn’t be on his clock today, things would require a little bit more speed.

He tapped his foot impatiently, waiting for the elevator. When it opened, Sam was there, coming up from the cafe with a large coffee in hand. Sam looked up, saw him and smiled.

Dean cleared his throat and stepped in, stood there with his trench over one arm and a box of sushi in hand. He felt the short hairs on the back of his neck prickle and wondered if Sam was staring at him.

“Hey,” Sam said suddenly.

Dean turned a little to look at him and then said “Hey,” curtly, embarrassed.

“What’s that, sushi? Did you stop at 6:30 am to get sushi for lunch??” Sam asked, voice mellow with amusement. Another manager, a blond Dean recognized from three offices down, shot them a look, curious.

“No,” Dean said. “I...had this at home,” and then he realized it was worse now, that he was explaining himself. 

Sam went to get off at Tech Support. “Right, dude.” he said, smiling.

Dean blanched. “That’s...that’s Mr. Smith to you!” he said as the elevator closed in front of him.

 

 

He sat picking at the California roll with chopsticks and idly watching a Ghostfacers tutorial vid on low during his lunch hour. And then the door to his office swung open and Sam came in with a paper bag crumpled in one fist.

He closed the door behind him and started digging an apple out of his sack.

“Hey, hey! You...what are you doing?” Dean asked angrily as Sam sat down, apple in his mouth. He looked up at Dean, eyebrows high, and then pulled the apple back out, confused. 

“Having lunch? I thought we could talk about...you know, _stuff_?”

Dean laughed derisively. “I’ve got other things to think about, Sam. Lots of things that have nothing to do with ghosts-” And then on the tutorial, Harry turned on a blowtorch and yelled “BOOYAH!” and Sam’s brow crinkled.

“You’re watching _Ghostfacers_ tutorials!” Sam said, jumping up. Dean threw his hands over the screen. “No! No I’m...I’m not!”

“I saw that one! Its the graveyard etiquette one! Dude, I _saw_ it! It was pretty informative about how hard it is to get into the modern coffin-”

“I’m not watching _that_!” Dean yelled. And then he slammed his hands down on the keyboard and the screen blipped off.

They stood with the desk between them, Dean breathing heavy and Sam with wide eyes.

Then Dean tried pressing a few keys but the screen was black. He frowned, thumbed at the little apple key several times. 

“I think...I think I killed it,” he said. “Oh god. I had all the new orders for Richmond on there!”

Sam sighed exasperatedly and joined him on the other side of his desk. “Look, lets just...lets restart her and see what happens.”

Dean put his face in his hands, peeked through his spread fingers as Sam crouched down and switched the computer off and then on.

After a long, horrifying moment the screen went blue again and was asking for Dean’s password.

Dean went slack into his desk chair, heavy with relief. 

“It’s KAZ space 2Y5,” he said. 

Sam typed it in and Dean’s custom background came up, a picture of him with his shirt off during that hike on Mount Katahdin. Sam stared.

“I uh. It’s for inspiration. That was when I was at my healthiest,” Dean said.

“Yeah,” Sam said, still staring. And then he got up abruptly and said. “I’m gonna go. Sorry to just...come up here. I don’t know why I thought-”

“Hey, it’s okay,” Dean said lamely, though Sam was already putting his lunch back in his paper bag.

“No, it’s not. I shouldn’t just...expect you. I...nevermind. I’ll see you later.” He huffed and headed out the door. 

“Hey Sam? We still on for Friday?” Dean called. 

Sam looked back at him, confused. “Yeah? We are, right? I mean-”

“Right,” Dean agreed hastily, smiling.

 

 

They met up every Friday and made it through several Japanese horror movies, which Dean had never seen before and which scared the shit out of him. He started sleeping with his fire poker beside the bed at night. 

They watched one called _Kairo_ and afterwards, his palms were all sweaty and Sam looked just as bloodless as he felt. 

“Je _sus_ ,” he laughed at himself. “I’m gonna definitely be sleeping with my fire poker tonight.”

Sam looked at him, surprised, and then laughed too. “I uh. Sometimes line the window sills with salt. You know,” he said, embarrassed.

“Wow, that’s pretty smart,” Dean said, impressed.

Sam shrugged, but smiled a little. “I just thought, they don’t like it so you...could probably use it like that. They wouldn’t want to go near it.”

“Yeah,” Dean agreed enthusiastically. “No, that’s awesome.”

Sam ducked his head and looked really pleased. 

“Yeah, really smart,” Dean mumbled, looking at his beer. And then Sam got up suddenly and said “I brought something to show you.”

Dean was a little buzzed, felt lightheaded when he stood up to join Sam in the lighted kitchen. Sam spread out a newspaper on the countertop and said “Okay, I know you said you didn’t really want to do something like this, but uh. I just wanted you to see this thing I found.”

Dean read the headline outloud to himself “Port Hadley Lighthouse: A Curious History.”

Sam interrupted, reading, skipping ahead “Since 1881, the ghostly figure has been seen, wandering along the rocky shore between the lighthouse and the old Brighton cottage. Nicknamed the Grey Shore Ghost, the figure is a local legend and has even inspired a summer festival, The Grey Shore Night Walk.”

He looked up at Dean practically thrumming with excitement.

“It’s only a day’s drive from here,” Sam explained.

“Wait. No-” Dean started.

“We can take my volvo. I’ll pay for whatever. I’ll even pack what we need,” Sam went on.

“Sam, we can’t do that,” Dean argued, but Sam was rolling the newspaper up, talking to himself now, enthusiastically.

“-they’re maybe still selling bags of road salt at the hardware store. I’d have to check to make sure-”

“SAM!” Dean said, and Sam finally stopped, looked at him. 

“Look, we...” Dean started to say and watched as Sam’s face shut down. 

Dean sighed. “Can we leave Saturday afternoon? I got yoga in the morning and-”

Sam grinned. “Yes! Yes, okay. I planned the route and it’s this gorgeous drive up the coast and I think the leaves might be changing.”

 

 

Dean went shopping that week for gear. He bought an LL Bean parka with a removable fleece lining. He picked the Colonial Red one, because it looked good against his skin. He bought a beautiful half-cashmere pull over too, in the same color. And then he looked through some of the instore camping equipment and picked out a cute little leather-covered coffee thermos. 

He filled it with good espresso for the drive and was lacing his boots when Sam knocked.

 

 

“Hey,” Sam said, and he looked happy. His hair was wet like he’d jumped out of the shower and got right in the car. It was pushed back off his forehead. 

Dean smiled, grabbed his bags and the thermos. “I packed some snacks. Apples and some cheeses and these awesome rice crackers,” Dean said excitedly as they went downstairs. Sam was grinning as he popped his trunk. There was a duffle tossed back there and a pair of old boots.

“That’s it? Where’s the hunting gear?” Dean asked, confused. Sam blinked and then leaned close, sly. “Look,” he said.

He shoved his duffle aside and then slid his hand under the inner lining of the trunk and pulled it back. Underneath was a little space where Sam had stashed a box of salt, a tire iron, the fireplace pokers and what looked like a machete. 

“Woah,” Dean said.

“Yeah, I don’t know. I just...thought we shouldn’t have our stuff like, out where anyone could see it. Especially since I brought this-” he touched the knife and then drew his hand back, let the lining cover fall.

Dean nodded. “Smart.”

Sam raised a brow at him and Dean said “No, really. That’s smart, Sammy.”

Sam looked away, bashful, and Dean hefted his bags up and put them in on top. “I can’t believe I’m spending the weekend with some guy from tech support who has a giant freakin’ sword hiding in his trunk,” Dean said.

Sam barked out a surprised laugh and grabbed the snack bag from Dean. “Yeah well, I can’t believe I’m carting your yuppie ass and... rice crackers up north to go _ghost hunting_.”

Dean chuckled and climbed into the passenger seat. “They’re wasabi rice crackers and they’re gonna rock your socks off, bitch.”

“Jerk,” Sam huffed to himself, and got in.

 

 

The drive up _was_ beautiful. Some of the trees had turned a bright orange in the past week, and they were little plumes of fire in the green hills. Sam put on NPR, which made Dean roll his eyes (liberals), but it was Car Talk and they both enjoyed it. 

They stopped for lunch at a nice seafood restaurant in Barnstable, shared a plate of oysters that were so good, Dean felt a little splurged out afterwards and tilted his seat back for the rest of the drive, hand on his tummy. 

They pulled into Port Hadley a little after 3 o’clock, and Sam said “Don’t worry, I already got us rooms at the Breakers Bed and Breakfast,” so Dean just had to relax while Sam checked them in and then he poured himself a complimentary cup of decaf and went to sit out on the back deck, overlooking the tide going out.

Sam joined him after a few minutes and said “I’m uh...gonna get some rest. If we’re doing this tonight-”

“Yeah,” Dean agreed and finished his coffee. He sat out for a half hour and then went inside to his room, which was toasty from a miniature woodstove in the corner. It was a cozy little room with dusky blue walls and one Winslow Homer painting above the bed. He curled up under the comforter and slept soundly for three hours.

As he slept, he dreamt about Sam. They were standing under these sun-dappled trees by a river, drinking beers. The light was romantic, beautiful and low-lit. But Sam was angry, shoulders all defensive, hands clenched. And it broke Dean’s heart. It made him want to fix everything.

 

 

When he woke up, the room was grey with the late afternoon gloom. He felt disoriented from sleeping so hard in the middle of the day and got up to splash water on his face. Then he put on his new parka and boots and went downstairs.

Sam was sitting in the little guest living room, watching the news. He looked up anxiously at Dean and then stood quickly. “We should get out there.”

Dean nodded. “Do you want to buy something for dinner and bring it with us? It could be a few hours, man.”

Sam looked around like he was getting his thoughts in line and then said “Yeah, good. There’s a sandwich shop on the corner. Lets grab a few and head up.”

 

 

They ate their sandwiches in the car as the sun went down. Dean felt shaky, nerves all fritzing and awakening. Sam looked about the same, his knee jogging on and on as they ate.

“This is gonna be great, right?” Dean said, and he could hear the apprehensiveness in his own voice.

But Sam shot him a look and it was blindingly happy. “Are you kidding? This is going to be _awesome_.”

Dean chuckled. “Yeah? Yeah.”

 

 

Things didn’t go as planned. They had been crouched behind a boulder on the shore to hide for ten minutes when they heard a “Hey. Hey there! You! YOU! This is private land!”

Sam looked at Dean and said “Oh shit, what do we?-”

“HEY!” the guy said, shining a flashlight on Dean’s face. Dean blinked, raised a hand. 

“Dude, easy!” Dean grouched.

The guy pointed the light from one face to the other, standing over them. “What do you think you’re doing out here, huh? You been drinking?”

Dean snorted. “No!”

Sam raised his palms, trying to calm the groundskeeper down. “Look, we’re just...we’re just-”

“Ghost hunters,” Dean blurted out. “We’re just here to see the Grey Ghost-”

Sam looked at him with appreciation. 

The guy shined his light on Sam’s face and said “Yeah right. What are you, dealers? You crackheads?”

“No, really. We’re ghost hunters. This is Smith and I’m Wesson-” Sam said and then blinked, looked back at Dean, surprised. The guy laughed derisively. 

“I wasn’t born yesterday, son. You and your boyfriend here better clear off my land in the next five minutes or I’m calling the sheriff.”

 

 

They walked back to the car lugging the duffle. “Well, that went well,” Dean said sarcastically.

“Yeah. Jesus, I didn’t know what to _say_. Also, Smith and Wesson? That’s...that’s kind of ridiculous, man.”

Dean smiled and then got in the car to regroup. “Yeah, I didn’t notice that.”

“We need. We need fake names.” Sam said.

“What, like. Secret identities?”

“Like _aliases_. No one’s going to believe Smith and Wesson. I can’t even believe that I didn’t think of that either.” Sam ran a palm through his hair.

“How ‘bout, The Colts? We can pretend to be brothers. You know. Uh, like your dream,” Dean said.

“The Colts?” Sam said, skeptically. “The Colts: Ghost Hunters?” 

Dean shrugged. “Why not? It sounds good to me.”

Sam sighed. “Yeah. I...okay. What do we do now, Dean _Colt_?”

“Lets wait another hour until it’s darker and then we’ll go back out. But we’ll go along the wooded side, come out on the beach that way. They probably won’t see us as easy.”

“That’s good. Good, all right. Wooo,” Sam breathed. “I’m all...shaky, look.” He held up his hand and it was shivering.

Dean held up his too, and it was jumping all over the place. “This is such a rush, man.”

 

 

They snuck back along the treeline, ducked low. And then they were down on the starlit beach and they picked a little shadowy crag in the cliffside to hide in. They sat together with their knees pulled up to their chests, and Sam went through their gear, handed Dean a little balloon full of rock salt.

“Good idea,” Dean whispered. 

“Yeah, I was...oh,” Sam began to say and then stopped.

“What?”

“I was just doing this mantra, What Would Ed Do? What Would Ed Do?, and I thought of it.”

“Like, that Ghostfacers guy?” Dean asked.

“Yeah,” Sam said, and he sounded embarrassed. 

“Ha! Awesome,” Dean said, pleased, and pocketed the balloon.

They sat in the dark waiting, pockets filled with balloon, holding their fireplace pokers. The ocean shushed along the shore and the moon began to rise, big and white over the water.

“It doesn’t get better than this,” Dean said with relish.

“Yeah,” Sam breathed.

 

 

The ghost appeared after 2:00, moving silently across the sand while Sam dozed. Dean punched him in the shoulder hastily, anxious, and Sam snorted awake just in time to see the ghost disappear behind the rocks.

“Get up, get up!” Dean hissed and Sam stumbled to his feet. They grabbed their pokers and set off running towards the rocks, boots thumping.

Dean made it around the rocks first and was instantly thrown back the way he’d come, breath knocked out of him. It made him yelp, feeling that again, the strange way it felt to be hit by something unseen, by something supernatural. 

“Dean!” Sam said and Dean gasped “It’s all right, get it!”

Sam ran around the rocks and Dean heard a “Oooph!” and then Sam was back, rolling in a backwards cartwheel over the sand. 

“Sammy?!”

The ghost appeared, a gauzy figure in the moonlight, and Dean clenched his teeth and threw a salt balloon at it.

The balloon broke on the rocks and the figure disappeared, blinked out.

“Woah, good work,” Sam said breathlessly, joining him. 

“Stupid...ghost,” Dean gritted out. “I hurt my arm.”

“Is it broken?” Sam asked, worried.

“No. No, it’s just bruised. Ow,” Dean complained.

They got up and looked over the water and beach. “Do you think it’s gone?” Dean asked.

“I don’t think so. Salt doesn’t kill them, right? It just keeps them back. It’s for defense. What kills them is destroying their uh. Remains. We need to figure out where it’s coming from.”

Dean nodded. “Back that way, it appeared from that big rock. Lets go dig around, see what we can find.”

They were rifling through some shells in a tidepool when the ghost blipped into existence again right behind Dean’s shoulder and threw him off the rock, towards the ocean below. 

“Dean!” Sam bellowed.

 

 

Dean could hear the ocean at his back, roaring. He lay prone, wind knocked out of him, blinking blearily into the dark.

And then there was a fire of sparks in the sky, glittering from above. 

And then Sam’s concerned face peering down at him. 

“Oh god, oh god, _Dean_ ,” Sam said, and went against the rock on his chest, reaching out as far as he could.

Dean put up a shaky arm, poker in hand, extending it to Sam. Sam grasped it and pulled and Dean sluggishly toed up along the rock until he was on the top again, panting next to Sam.

“What happened?” he asked hoarsely.

“I don’t...know,” Sam said. 

 

 

“I was angry. _Jesus_ , Dean. I thought you were _drowning_. I flipped out and...something. Happened,” Sam said as they walked back to the car.

“What happened?” 

“I don’t know,” Sam frowned. “It was like...something came out of me and...” 

Dean stared at him.

“That’s stupid. I don’t know. But whatever it was, that ghost is gone for good now.”

“Fuckin’ _right_ it is,” Dean crowed a little, excited.

Sam stared at Dean for a moment, serious. And then his face broke into a grin that was a mile wide.

 

 

They shivered with the cold, hopped up on the end of their adrenaline as they drove back to the Bed and Breakfast. 

The house was silent and locked up, so they had to jimmy a locked window and climb in. Dean went first, headfirst, and landed half on a table. A vase teetered there and he grabbed it just as Sam came in behind him, landed right on Dean.

They lay there, frozen, listening. But no one came running to catch the break-in, so they got up, shoulders shaking with held laughter, righted the vase and went upstairs.

Dean let them into his room and Sam began laughing. They were both overtired, giddy. Dean laughed too and then began pawing open his jacket. “So _crazy_. Holy shit. Holy fuckin’ shit, Sammy.”

Sam was pulling off his jacket too, watching Dean intently.

“Oh god, Oh _man_. I can’t believe we did that. _Again_!” Dean said, tossing his jacket aside.

Sam tossed his too.

“I just. I can’t even believe I’m killing _ghosts_!” And then Sam wrapped Dean up in a bear hug and was kissing him.

They tripped around in their boots, skidding across a throw rug, and when Dean gasped, Sam groaned and sucked on his lip. 

Dean sat down hard at the end of his bed and Sam went down on his knees in front of him and began working desperately at Dean’s buckle.

“Oh God, Yesss,” Dean groaned, hips jerking up helplessly at the feeling. He was hard. Oh god, he’d never been this hard. He’d driven back here with a fuckin’ rigid _bar_ in his jeans. 

Sam’s mouth was panting, his face was red with effort as he ripped open the button and split the zipper. He roughed Dean up, trying to pull them down, get to Dean’s dick.

“Oh shit, Suck me, suck me,” Dean moaned, hand cupping Sam’s head. Sam moaned too, eyes shuddering closed as he brought out Dean’s hot dick and went down sloppily.

The heat and slick covered him, made Dean’s eyes cross. Made Dean arch and twist, trying to get all the way into that.

“Sammy, more,” he whimpered suddenly and Sam groaned around his dick, went down so far, took Dean right into his throat. 

Dean could feel the ridges there, as Sam swallowed on him, and it made him cry out, made him spurt. 

He came so good, his body went off in waves of it, arching and arching, screwing into Sam choking throat.

 

 

Sam wiped off his chin and began unbuttoning his own jeans, shoving them back. Dean rolled his head over, wiped out, and stared with glazed eyes.

“S-soon, I swear. I swear to god, Dean. I’m gonna fuck you. I’m gonna make your ass sore and-”

And then he sobbed, coming with a deep quake into his hand.

 

 

He ate out Dean’s ass with earnest tongue thrusts while Dean gripped the bed covers in his hands and hyperventilated. 

“I’m not...oh _uhhhnn_!” He garbled. “SAM!”

He was testing Dean with one long finger, going deep. Sam moaned at the feeling. 

“Sam, I’m not. Oh god, I’m not-” Dean babbled as Sam slipped in another and fingerfucked him. He bent in again to lick wet his own fingers as they slicked in and out and in and out.

“Sam, oh. Oh, Sam. Sam,” Dean gasped, scratching at the bed as Sam hefted him back and began pressing his dick in.

The stretch was unfathomably painful, made Dean’s eyes roll back and his jaw clench up in shock. This wasn’t normal. It couldn’t be normal for a man to let another man-

And then Sam shifted and pressed deep again, dick hot, and it rubbed inside just. Right.

Dean’s eyes went wide and he could have wept a little. “Oh, oh. It’s so so good, Sam. Oh God, so fuckin’ good.”

Sam grunted, big hands cupping Dean’s hips and holding him still. “Yeah.”

“Fuck me. Uhn fuck Sam. _Yes_ ,” Dean gritted out, tonguing his lip and trying to arch his ass higher into the air for more.

 

 

He woke up and punched Sam in the shoulder. Sam woke up too with a surprised grunt. 

“Dean?”

Dean got up and went out onto the balcony, back shaking. 

“What? Dean, what is it?” Sam asked, worried.

“You. You made me a. A _queerboy_ ,” Dean spat out.

Sam got out of bed, frowning. “Dean, what? That’s...not okay, man.”

“Whatever,” Dean hissed. “I’ve never thought about doing that before. Goddamnit, you...you made me feel so...so,” and then Dean sighed, slumped a little. “Oh god, I was so _slutty_ for it.”

Sam stood next to him awkwardly. He went to touch Dean’s shoulder and then paused, hand in the air, uncertain.

“I never felt like that before,” Dean admitted. 

Sam smiled tiredly, touched his arm. “Me either, okay?”

 

 

They drove back along the coast, silent. After two hours, Dean turned to look at Sam wildly and then they pulled over and ended up making out in the backseat awkwardly. Dean’s hair got all mussed, spiky in Sam’s hand, and his eyes rolled back at the feeling of Sam squirming to get a hand down his pants.

“Wait, wait!” Dean gasped. “Not. Here. We can’t get arrested for this.”

Sam dropped his forehead to Dean’s, eyes closed in desperation. Dean suckled Sam’s bottom lip, moaning. “You want it though, right?”

“Yeah, I want it,” Dean said. “Almost just creamed myself, I want it so bad.” 

“W-what the hell is this, anyway? Feel like I’m gonna pop. I just fucked the hell out of you twice last night and I already wanna-” Sam said and then got up, blushing. Dean eyed the front of Sam’s pants, the big ridge there. It made his mouth water.

“Okay, wait-” Dean said.

 

 

He sucked Sam off on the side of the road, head bobbing, eyes screwed shut while Sam gasped, thumbed at his ears and said stuff like “Dean, god. I... _love you_ , man.”

 

“Love you, love you,” Sam moaned as they moved together in Dean’s bed. Dean bit at Sam’s neck, his shoulder, groaned and suckled hungrily. 

“Fuck, I need you,” Dean breathed. “I _need_ you, Sammy.”

 

 

By Monday, they’d fucked so many times Dean’s ass was sore and Sam’s dick was sore. They groaned as they showered together before work, sucking each other’s tongues under the water. Sam got hard again anyway, fucked him angrily against the sink after, still wet and warm from the shower. “Gonna. Make. Us. Late,” Sam grunted.

“Yeah, fuck!” Dean called mindlessly, going tight on Sam’s cock as he blew his own load all over the tiled wall.

 

 

They stopped in the Panera for pastries in the lobby before they went up together in the elevator. Dean stared at the dark bruise on Sam’s thick neck as they waited in line. Then he reached up, touched at it above the yellow collar. Sam turned and looked at him with hooded eyes and then this guy in a trenchcoat stepped up and took Dean’s arm.

“What the-?” Dean said and the man began pulling him out of line. 

“Hey!” Sam yelled and grabbed the guy’s shoulder. 

“Dean Winchester, it’s time to wake up,” the guy said sternly. 

“Hey, get the fuck off him!” Sam growled and the guy lifted his hand and slid his thumb down Dean’s forehead, right between his eyes.

It all came back in a rush, everything.

Dean took an intake of breath, startled.

Then the guy thumbed Sam’s face too, and they all stood in a circle, dumbfounded. 

They breathed shakily, and the two brothers looked each other in the eyes.

“Wake up,” Castiel murmured.

They stared, Sam’s mouth fallen open. 

Dean blinked. 

“You’ve been asleep for so long,” Castiel said.

“Dean,” Sam said, voice almost pleading. Dean looked off out the window, felt the tie around his neck choking him. And then he gasped.

“Oh, _oh_. Those Ghostfacer _shit-for-brains_ have been talking _smack_ about us!” he groused.

 

 


End file.
